a muse of fire
by airbefore
Summary: She grins and rolls her eyes but lets him keep a hold on her foot as she turns back to her book. His book. **vague Frozen Heat spoilers** One shot. Complete.


**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factua**l.**

**AN:** This one is for Nancy, for services rendered. Hope you like it, dude.

(And in case you missed it in the summary: vague Frozen Heat spoilers within.)

* * *

Kate's crossed ankles swish through his peripheral vision, a metronome of tanned skin topped with bright red toenails. The headboard creaks softly as he reaches out and catches her on a backswing, his fingers wrapping tightly around her slender left foot. His eyes track up the backs of her legs, over the lace covered swell of her ass, the long line of her back, taut and toned under her thin tank top, the spill of her hair, curls tumbling over her bare shoulders, caressing her skin -

"Castle."

His gaze snaps to hers, her face lit with gentle amusement. She wiggles her toes against his hand, eyebrow raised.

"All that swaying was making me seasick."

She grins and rolls her eyes but lets him keep a hold on her foot as she turns back to her book. His book. His stomach rolls again and he pulls her feet down next to his thigh, silently acknowledging that it wasn't the swaying making him sick.

A galley copy of Frozen Heat is spread out in front of her, the pages bright and crisp. She's made a sizeable dent since they moved from the living room to her bed, a pillow bunched under her chest as she rests on her stomach, flipping the pages at a steady pace. It's the first time he's watched her read his work and he can't seem to control the massive nest of butterflies fluttering in his chest.

This is ridiculous. He has twenty-seven bestselling novels; he doesn't get nervous about people reading his work. Not like this. He doesn't get the gnawing worry in the pit of his stomach, a sickening ache that makes him second guess every word. Every period and comma and question mark. He has to fight the urge to rip the book from her hands, to take it home and rewrite every last page until it's perfect. Until it's good enough. For her.

A book, some young adult novel about kids with cancer that Alexis recommended, lays forgotten in his lap as he watches her, traces over the lines and curves of her body with his gaze, trying to read her thoughts in the tilt of her head and the rise of her shoulders. He'd written most of it before they were together, before she came to him in May with soaked skin and hungry eyes, ready to finally give them a chance. The summer had been spent editing, adding details and trimming fat, a tiny voice in the back of his brain screaming at him the whole time that this one _matters_, that this is the one that could -

Kate shifts, her hips pressing down into the bed, the scalloped edge of her underwear pulling tight over her ass. He lets his eyes move up her body, watches as her chest hitches, breath catching against her ribs. The skin between her shoulder blades is flushed, a soft tinge of pink shimmering through the spill of her hair. Her fingers are restless, nails drawing over the fan of the unread pages, a seductive scrape that pulls his attention, sends sparks skittering across his nerves. Her legs twitch again, thighs pressing together until the skin blanches, and he grins, closing his book and dropping it on her nightstand.

Slowly, he tilts his weight forward, stretches his body out next to hers on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. She hasn't turned a page in a while, more than enough time having elapsed for her to have read the paragraphs before her at least half a dozen times. He leans in, feels her shiver when he feathers the pads of his fingers up the back of her bare thigh.

"You're pretty engrossed," he whispers, eyes flicking over the page to ascertain where she is in the story. The park in Paris. Nice. "That good?"

"Stop fishing for compliments." Her voice is low and thick, a slow drawl that obliterates the stern tone she's aiming for. He slides his hand around, thumb pressing into the shallow crease where ass meets thigh, his fingers tracing the lacy edge of her underwear, the fabric warm and damp against his skin.

"You haven't turned a page in a while. Is the action not keeping your attention?" She squirms, her hips tilting into the bed when he pushes her underwear to the side, slips his hand over her. He bites back a groan at the feel of her, wet and hot, against his palm. "Is it not fast paced enough for you?"

"Castle -" She leans into him, her weight shifting, shoulder pressing into his chest.

"You can tell me. I'm a professional, I can take constructive criticism. It's obviously affecting your enjoyment -" he dips a finger into her arousal, slides up to circle her clit - "so tell me. Be brutally honest."

"Nikki and Rook in the park in Paris. It's just so -"

"Hot?"

"Predictable."

"Bite your tongue," he admonishes, dropping his head and nipping at her shoulder, his hand tensing between her legs. "I am _never_ predictable." He flexes his wrist, slips a finger inside her. "At least not in print."

"Oh, come on," she huffs, her hips twitching against his hand as she turns her head to look at him. Her eyes are dark, the lids heavy, her cheeks stained pink. "They make out on a bench, grope each other in public, and then get ambushed on their way back to the hotel to have sex? Totally -" her breath catches as he pulls out, slides back in with two fingers - "Totally and completely predictable."

"And it's this supposed predictability that's got you so worked up?" His fingers curl on the last word, pulling a rough gasp from her open mouth. Her bottom lip is slick, glistening in the late afternoon sunlight and he can't resist, leaning in to pull it between his own, nibbles at the edge with his teeth. She hums a soft moan against him and he shifts forward, lets his weight fall into her, pushing her body down into the give of the mattress. "What changes would you suggest?"

"You could have let them finish."

"Ah, but if you'd kept reading, you'd know that they're about to get some information that is incredibly important. Vital, even. No time to make it back to the hotel."

"Who said anything about making it back to the hotel?"

"Are you suggesting that I should have written them having sex in public?" He gasps in mock horror, the lace of her panties scraping over the back of his hand as he increases the speed of his fingers. "I'm shocked, Detective."

Kate presses her shoulder down toward the mattress and rolls into him, her back pressing into his chest, right leg lifting to drape over his thigh. They both groan when her ass hits the bulge in the front of his boxers, his fingers sliding deeper inside of her. Castle drops his mouth to the side of her neck and her arm wraps backward around his head, holding him in place as her hips roll.

"I wanted to read it," she pants, hair dragging over his skin when she tilts her head, gives him more access to her neck. "I wanted to read about how you imagined us in public, in that park."

"Us?"

He breathes against her neck, waiting. Expecting her to freeze, to pull away in embarrassment. But her hips just keep rolling in the cradle of his thighs, her free hand kneading her breast as she rides his hand, body clenched tight around his fingers.

"It's always been about us, Castle. You don't even try to hide it."

She whimpers when he pulls his fingers away, reaches into his boxers, tugs himself free. "No," he agrees, running himself along the length of her, trapped between the heat of her body and the damp roughness of her underwear, "I don't." Leaning down, he pulls her earlobe between his teeth, bites down as he grips her hip. "I've always pictured us when I'm writing it."

Her arm releases from around his neck and she reaches down, scraping her nails over his tense thigh. He thrusts against her, slipping through her arousal, the tip of his erection connecting with her clit. They fall into a lazy rhythm, bodies rolling in sync, harsh pants littering the air.

"Me too," she confesses. "And I know you did it on purpose."

"What?"

"You never completely describe them, never give anything more than vague physical characteristics. And he is -" her hand slides from his thigh to her own and he watches as she traces the edge of her underwear, slipping inside. He bumps against her circling fingers as he thrusts, shock waves travelling through his body at the contact. "He is _so_ you, Castle. Everything about him. It's you. And she's -"

"You," he groans as she leans forward and angles her hips, fingers slipping down to push him inside of her on his next thrust. She's hot and tight and so fucking wet around him and he needs more, needs to feel her skin against his, her body under him. Reaching over her, he grabs her discarded pillow and pulls it down, rolls her onto her stomach on the bed. Kate groans and arches into him, her ass pressing into his pelvis. She strips off her tank top as he grips her hips and looks down, watching as he pushes himself into her, the wet smack of flesh bouncing around the room.

His eyes trail over her back as she shifts beneath him, tracing the lines of her muscles as they bunch and flex, the sharp edges of her scapulae pressing hard against her skin. The valley of her spine draws his attention and he reaches out, scuttles his fingers up the ladder of her vertebrae, fingers sifting through her hair when he reaches the nape her neck. Kate moans and grips the sheets when he takes a fistful of her hair and tugs, drawing her neck into a graceful curve.

"Fuck, Castle," she pants, the book clattering to the floor as the bed rocks under them, her knuckles turning white against the dark red sheets. "Don't stop. Shit. Please - _please_ don't stop."

He releases her hip and her hair, drapes his body over her back. His fingers tangle with hers in the sheets, arms spread wide across the bed as he obliges her, doesn't stop.

"Did you ever read those scenes and think about me? About us?"

"Yes," she growls, tossing her head to the side, searching for his mouth. He holds himself just out of her reach, enjoying the way her lips pucker against the thin air, her eyes hot and and wild.

"Did you touch yourself? Imagine it was me?"

"Did you?" She arches an eyebrow at him, amusement bleeding into her features.

"Yes." He bends his knee, pushing hers out with it, sinking deeper. Her eyes flutter closed and she moans out his name, low and long. "I had to take breaks, relieve the tension. Get you out of my head."

"Castle -"

"Never worked though. I always had to do a search and replace for your name while I was editing. Just to make sure."

"Oh, god," she cries, her head pressing hard into the mattress as she writhes under him. He swoops down and catches her lips, his kiss heated and sloppy, full of teeth and tongues. Her body tenses and he picks up his pace, throwing himself into her with abandon as she skates the edge of her release, eyes screwed shut, mouth open and panting.

"You didn't answer me," he grunts. mouth at her cheek. "Did you -"

"Yes. God, yes, Castle. Every time."

Her words push him over and he pulses into her, his toes curling against the bed. She cries out and follows him, her chest heaving as she comes, waves of rippling muscles pulling on him. With a huff, he collapses on top of her and then rolls to his side, his boxers twisted awkwardly around his hips.

Kate stays on her stomach, ass lifted into the air by the pillow, and he smiles at the sight of her, spent and panting, body shining with sweat. Unable to resist, he reaches out and slaps her ass, his palm connecting with a satisfying smack.

"I knew you loved my books, Beckett, but I had no idea that you _loved_ them."

"You're never going to stop gloating about that, are you?"

"Nope," he grins, fingers drawing lazy patterns over her spine. The sweat starts to dry on his skin, leaving him sticky and gritty, and he falls into her, rests his chin on her bicep. "Let's go shower."

"Okay."

"And then dinner?"

"No."

"No? You're telling me that _that_-" he waves a hand in the general direction of their lower bodies - "didn't work up an appetite?"

"No, it did but -" she trails off, sheepish.

"But?"

"I want to finish the book."

"Kate, you're sleeping with the author. I could just tell you. The bad guy is -"

Her hand lands over his mouth, eyes blazing.

"If you spoil me, Castle, this will be the last time you _ever_ see me naked."


End file.
